Kirkwall Correctional
by Matok
Summary: Correctional Hospital AU. When Fenris is transferred to Kirkwall to carry out his sentence, he finds himself under the care of an enigmatic young doctor and in the company of a host of interesting inmates. Mature content. Updated weekly (generally).
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

WARNING: This story takes place in a fictional correctional facility for patients with mental illnesses. If the subject matter offends or triggers you in any way, please _do not read this._ Also, if relationships with significant power imbalances offend or trigger you, again, _please do not read this. _It is purely fictional and is not an accurate representation of these facilities or the people who live or work there. There are dark and adult themes present throughout, and I will try and mark them as they appear.

_If any of this makes you uncomfortable in any way, I strongly urge you to hit the back button._

* * *

Hawke sighed and stared blankly at the thick manila folder on her desk.

_Leto 'Fenris' Argent_.

She looked down at the packet for a moment, too tired to open it. Her newest patient would be arriving tomorrow morning, and from the sheer volume of his file it did not seem like he would be a simple case. Hawke opened the packet, skimming through pages and pages of arrest records, court proceedings, and psychiatric evaluations.

_Arrested 5/14, assault._

_...sentenced to three years..._

Hawke paused at one note scrawled hastily on lined, unofficial looking paper. Curious, she scanned it carefully.

_Leto harbors a hatred within him stronger than any I have ever encountered in my thirty years of work. Combined with his obstinate personality, amnesia, and generally anti-social behavior, this aggressive man poses a threat to my personnel and institution._

She skipped ahead.

_If you are reading this then you too are probably going to treat Fenris. I doubt there is a cure for what ails him. He does not respond well to conventional practices, and his violent tendencies make him a danger to staff and other patients alike. The only advice I can offer is to take care._

It was signed simply 'Irving' with no MD after, nor were there any other indications of position.

Anders was unpredictable enough with his worsening mood swings; Hawke was not sure she could handle another patient so violent. She straightened and looked determinedly at the file. She could do this. Merrill and Aveline would help, just as they always had. Hawke was honestly not sure if she would still be at Kirkwall without the help of her favorite colleague and red-haired nurse.

The sun was setting outside her window, a spectacular show of colors that almost always preceded dark, fall nights. Today had been less successful than she would have liked what with Anders having an episode in group session. Isabela was handsy as always, but today she had decided to pursue Sebastian who had immediately panicked and fell to his knees praying and refused to move. Varric had separated the two, thankfully, while Aveline had escorted Anders out, allowing Hawke to calm Merrill. Hawke did not like to think about what would have happened had Aveline not been around. Anders condition was worsening, the medication he was taking seemingly less effective each day.

Hawke shook her head and stood. She knew she out to get going, it was going to be an early morning tomorrow when Fenris came along.

* * *

Fenris sat silently back in his chair, slumped and with arms folded over his prison issue, black T-shirt. His number was printed in crisp white letters along the breast and sleeves: #2267. It didn't matter to him what he was made to respond to; being called by Fenris or by an arbitrary number was of no concern to him. His identity was not his own, and this was nothing new to him. Even now nothing of note registered in his mind, no memories, no sensations, no... purpose.

After the arrest he found himself directionless. Fenris understood this would continue for another three years before his master would come to claim him again, when his vocation would be shifted from inmate back to kept killer. It was only a matter of waiting out whatever may be in store for him. He was comforted slightly by the knowledge that little could be worse than what he had already endured.

He was lucky to get off with such light charges. If his master had not done such a fine job of covering up his botched mistake, he would have landed himself in a maximum security unit for a good lot longer than three years. However, questions remained. Why had Danarius not paid off some official somewhere along the line to see him freed immediately, like before? Was he not worth the bribe? What was he going to do for three years with no master to heed?

_Ironic_, he mused to himself. _Prisons, my first taste of- of freedom. _Fenris knew it was neither his role nor his right to consider such an idea, but the temptation was too great. And yet-

His master would be along for him at some point.

A strong-faced, ginger haired woman opened he heavy metal door, her mouth set in a grim line. "Your time with the doctor begins now. Be polite and don't try anything tricky." Behind her was a dark mess of hair bent over a clipboard, and a furiously scribbling hand. "I'll be right out here if you need me, Dr. Hawke." The guard shut the door behind the other woman, presumably the one sent to try and fix him. Fenris narrowed his eyes and felt his mouth turn down, immediately on edge with another person in the room.

Then, the doctor's face turned up to meet his. Slightly freckled cheeks, full lips and a strong nose became visible. And her eyes were... captivating. She was an attractive woman, the sort that made men question their beliefs and make reckless decisions. There was a flicker of levity and good intentions in the turn of her mouth, and Fenris detested her for it. Women so beautiful could never be trusted. He averted his gaze sharply, but not before the slightly frazzled doctor sent her pile of papers, files and ink splattered clipboard clattering onto the metal table.

Hawke felt herself practically glow with embarrassment. She was a _professional_, or at least she was supposed to be. She had the paperwork and license for it, at any rate.

"Apologies," she murmured hastily as she reordered her papers and set her coffee down. She sat across from him and finally looked up to see the greenest eyes she'd ever beheld trained on her.

He was beautiful. Tanned skin, green eyes, and silver etched upon perfectly formed muscles. Tattoos, she realized, white and artfully lain to complement the lines of his body.

Someone should have mentioned that Fenris Argent was breathtaking.

And attached a copy of fraternization regulations.

She coughed when she realized she was staring. _Very professional_, she chided herself.

"I'm Dr. Hawke. Nice to meet you, Fenris."

He raised a dark brow in her direction. Hawke was an interesting sort of name. Sounded a bit southern, Ferelden perhaps. Watching the pretty young doctor attempt to organize herself was entertaining enough in the moment, though a twisting in his gut kept Fenris distracted. He could not determine the unease. Perhaps it was attraction, perhaps distaste, and more than likely it was both. He nodded briefly and fixed his sights back on the table, studying the clutter. Her mug was powder blue, with a kitschy depiction of a slobbering bulldog on its front. _Quaint._

Hawke took a breath and began. "So, Fenris— it's Fenris right, not Leto? If you'd like, you can just call me Hawke, no need for the 'doctor' part in front. Of course, I'm a doctor regardless but if that makes you more comfortable we can simply-" Hawke spoke a thousand words a minute and cut herself off, realizing she was babbling. He looked at her like she was the one who needed a psych eval, and Hawke almost agreed.

Fenris wrinkled his nose. _Leto_. It felt like a stranger's name, a name belonging to a man who was in a different world, a man who was, perhaps, free. Fenris had never been free.

"I go by Fenris," he answered after a stretch of hesitation. He blinked at her then; this woman invited him to call her by her last name? _Strange, and growing stranger by the moment_. "You do not have a first name?" he asked dryly.

"Well, um, my first name is very long and I've, you see, I've never really liked it. I much prefer Hawke." She hadn't sounded this awkward since high school. _Hawke, you graduated top of your class in med school, _youcan say your god-damn name. This strange man made her feel off-balance, unsettled. At his quirked eyebrow she decoded it would be best to simply sally forth before the conversation died of unnatural causes. "Is there anything you'd like to share before we begin? Anything you'd like me to know that may be important for your treatment?"

The flustered doctor was truly unlike any other person he'd ever encountered before. Fenris frowned at this Hawke, unsure of how to proceed. Especially as she prompted him to _share_. As unthreatening as this woman was, it still felt vaguely like an interrogation- though he could admittedly handle a beating better than her awkward line of questions.

"I will answer your questions. Ask them," he clipped, staring intensely into her eyes, attempting to fish out her hidden motivation.

"All right," she started gamely, looking down at her notes. "I'd like to start with your childhood. Do you have any sibling? Family?" She scanned her notes quickly. She saw no reference to them, but then again it was mostly arrest warrants and felony records in front of her. His emergency contact did not share his last name, but family situations were often complex.

Fenris faltered and he awkwardly toyed with a hangnail, running over the familiar swell of his tattooed thumb as was nervous habit. "I do not know," he replied. "I exist, so I suspect I have parents. Somewhere."

Hawke's brows came together slightly. "You...don't remember?" Perhaps he had simply blocked the memories, or this was the amnesia earlier mentioned, but it seemed odd it was not more thoroughly explored in his file.

Fenris bristled as she delivered her pitying question. "No," he supplied gruffly. "I do not remember anything before the initiation." The concern in her eyes was not genuine, couldn't be, and Fenris felt anger coil in his chest.

"Initiation? What do you mean?" Hawke scanned the files again, and realized that there were few details about his life mentioned in his evaluations.

Fenris considered his next actions carefully. He had three years in this prison to simply exist in solitude, but Danarius _would_ come for him the moment he was out, of that he was absolutely certain. How much he divulged in the next few minutes would be telling of his fate after his sentence.

"An initiation. A... demonstration of devotion was required. I remember little of it, and nothing before it."

"What were you initiated into?" Hawke leaned forward, studying the man before her closely. Flickers of uncertainty, sadness, but his face spoke of fear as well. Hawke cared for all her patients, but something about Fenris made her wish she could give him a hug and take him home to pet Teagan.

"A family," he intoned carefully. Memories drifted through his mind. Servicing his patriarch with trembling young hands, killing his first target, begging respite from Hadriana, his 'mother' who found nothing so pleasurable as denying meals and sleep; the images flashed unbidden. "My first memory was waking in a black room to indescribable pain, 'silver fire', as it were. I was given a name and a gun."

Hawke almost missed the flashes of emotion that played along Fenris' sculpted face. Shame, guilt, more fear... Hawke was unsure about the details, but she was surprised none of this was mentioned in his files. And the violence so often mentioned seemed all but absent. The details of his life should have been mentioned. Had her files been tampered with? Edited somehow? "A silver fire, your tattoos?"

Fenris winced a bit. They were not so simply defined as body art, and to call them tattoos felt caustic and inaccurate. "Carvings," he corrected quietly. "I am unsure of how they we're administered. But they are not tattoos."

The way he had murmured carvings made her almost certain that he had not wanted them. That, in conjunction with how uneasy he looked in his own skin, fidgeting and shifting, caused Hawke's heart go out to her newest patient. "I'm sorry," she offered. "My mistake."

She figured this was as good a segue as any to broach the elephant in the room. His file said he had murdered six people, executioner style, one by one. His first psychological evaluation branded him a psychopath, a ruthless killer. But looking into his tormented eyes Hawke could not help but think that there was more to be told. "Do you feel comfortable talking about the, ah..." Hawke struggled to find an appropriate euphemism for 'cold-blooded murders.'

His gut clenched with a heinous mix of anguish and terror. She was looking at his file intently, and in it (though he had not previously cared) contained all his recent... work, done at the behest of Danarius. The weight of the gun was a memory that lingered still, reminding him of how the smoke and iron singed his eyes, how the trigger resisted his clever finger as he pulled, how the light in his victim's eyes flickered out and dimmed. Danarius would-would _reward_ him for a job well done, and Hadriana would watch the man beat Fenris into bloody submission silently, eagerly. She would whisper all the names of their victim's families in Fenris' ear, grinningly detailing just how he was to dispose of each wife and child until Fenris could bear it no longer. "What do your papers say?" he choked out.

Fenris looked strangely vulnerable, strong shoulders slouched and fear etched into his very essence. She resisted the urge to offer her hand; that she even had the urge to touch him was wildly inappropriate. "It's all right Fenris," she said softly, soothingly, the same tone she used when Teagan was frightened. "I'm not here to judge you, only to try and understand."

Fenris' eyes darted to hers, near feral in their apprehension. The doctor, Hawke, was regarding him almost... tenderly? There was softness in her eyes that curled around his heart and almost stopped his breathing. For a moment Fenris felt the unfamiliar sensation of trust; it rolled about in his chest a tantalizing second, bidding him to comply with this stranger's request. "You cannot hope to understand, Hawke," he said lowly, in warning. It was the first time he had spoken her name. It sent a rush through him, and it tasted good on his tongue. This could only spell disaster. "I will not be able to reveal details to anyone. I will be punished."

Hawke was taken aback. His view of the world was so narrow, so colored by terror. "You will not be punished Fenris," Hawke murmured, brows drawing together slightly with concern. Her voice hardened, "No harm will come to you while you are here. You are _safe, _I promise you that."

Any words that were struggling to escape his throat in rebuttal withered away. Hawke had an impassioned flush in her cheeks, a stare that was both softness and steel. His heart skipped several beats and prompted the criminal to look away. There was something about her, and Fenris felt completely unarmed by her earnest promise as well as wholly unworthy of her faith in him. He believed her. He believed her without the threat of force, he believed her for no reason other than that she had given her word. Strange that that should be enough. Staring at the scratched edge of the table, he spoke hesitantly.

"The first incident I was charged with. There was a man. He was late in settling a debt he had incurred with my employer. He had taken a loan, a small sum." He barked a hoarse, bitter laugh. "I was told he used the money for narcotics, that he fancied himself a small time dealer." Fenris paused. "He…wasn't."

"What happened?" Hawke was almost afraid to ask. She had some ideas but he could only hope her imagination was running wild.

"I broke down his door," he started, and his voice wavered against his will. "There was a little girl, and..." Fenris closed his eyes, clenching his hands. His scars burned, his heart was lurched into his throat. Hawke looked so expectant, so concerned and so damn beautiful. Fenris sullied her ears with his filthy past. "I finished it quickly. The girl just stared before falling asleep. Her cheeks were wet- I didn't know, I-I didn't..."

She felt his agony as sharply as she did her own. "It's alright, Fenris. What's done at the command of another is not your burden to bear. I know it's painful to talk about, but it's a step in the right direction. I'm here for you."

_I'm here for you, Fenris. _

He'd heard that before. He'd heard it as a mocking comfort each time Danarius came to taunt him after a session with Hadriana. He'd heard it as one of the thugs they kept dragged him away, the meaning of the words skewed to become a threat – a threat – a _threat- _

Fenris felt anger rip through his chest and burn at his ears. "You are not here for me; you are here because the court ordered you to pick apart my brain, and exploit my weaknesses. Do no _toy_ with me!"

Hawke recoiled slightly. Although his words were true, she had thought, just for a second...

Hawke straightened, tamping down the urge to shy away. "I am here because I chose to help people, Fenris, and right now you fall into that category. I don't want to toy with you or hurt you. I want to help you, if you'll allow me the chance. You can use this time to be angry, or we can use this time to talk."

Fenris looked down again. She wanted to help him, wasn't _that_ just charming. There was a thrumming in his heart that beat frantically, and with unfamiliar heat he considered for a moment that... she may be genuine. True. Fenris clenched his teeth as the conflict roiled within him. "I carried out my orders. I did it and he was crying for his children, sobbing, pleading... My master would have had me dispose of witnesses," he whispered his eyes trained down. "But I could not bring myself to..."

Hawke looked at Fenris. The mask of indifference and hardness that she saw so many men wear was absent. She knew it was a rare moment, but it cemented in her mind that Fenris was a good man, a man who could and by the Maker _would_ be given the care he deserved. Hawke would do everything in her power to see him hale and whole, happy too.

"You were merciful, Fenris. It's what keeps us human."

Fenris kept his eyes riveted to the floor, silver hair obscuring his visage. "I did not show that man mercy. I have no good nature that you can uncover, doctor." The word slipped off his tongue with a sour taste.

It was in that tense moment the door swung open and the ginger officer came in. "Time's up, doctor. Time for dinner."

Fenris did not look up and Hawke thought it best to give him time to process what had been said.

"Ah, yes. Well Fenris, we'll talk again soon."

He only nodded and stood as the nurse collected him, a little shaky from the violent recounting of his past. But as he walked out the last thing he saw were her eyes, grey and kind and true in a way he hadn't known existed.

* * *

A/N: Another AU! This one is considerably darker but it really just wrote itself.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Varric sat at a rounded table, surrounded by other inmates. He had just finished the tale of his exploits in Toronto. It was a great story, best he'd come up with in days. Maybe weeks. Some stared at him with awe, others envy, and a few were busy blushing and looking away, shifting in their seats.

"Six women?"

"Well, seven if you count Serendipity, and let me tell you I most certainly would" Varric remarked, smiling charmingly.

He turned to see who else he could regale with 'Canadian Beavers: Fur in the Winter', but his eyes fell on something, or more specifically _someone_, new. A tan, white-haired man stood hesitantly with a tray in hand, looking at the tables before him. "Hey old man! Over here!" Varric's voice rang out towards him.

Fenris' sensitive ears pricked up at the jab, and his eyes sought out the source. A short, compact man with sunny blonde hair and wickedly sharp eyes motioned him over. He wore a mischievous grin as Fenris approached, not unlike a dubious salesman. Silently, and sending withering glares to the inhabitants of the table, he took his place across from the rakish man. "I am not old," he defended half-heartedly.

Fenris ignored the man, opening a plastic straw and popping it into his juice. He nearly let a smile escape; he had always had a keen affinity for apple juice. His inner delight over the beverage was cut short by the joking comments about his appearance. Varric regarded him with that rouge smile, and Fenris couldn't figure out if there was any hostility behind it. It was a wholly disconcerting feeling altogether.

"_Really_, I couldn't tell," Varric drawled sarcastically. "I think it might be the bulging muscles that gave it away. Or the tan. Absolutely characteristic of the elderly. You should have seen my dear old grandmother when she was—"

"I thought you said you were an orphan?"

"Bran, my friend, don't interrupt me when I'm talking." Varric turned back to the man in front of him. "Anyways, the name's Varric. Varric Tethras." He extended his hand, smiling winningly as his gilded chest hair caught the light.

Hesitantly, he extended his hand to grasp Varric's. The touch was not as painful as he expected, a slight surprise. "I am Fenris." The man kept staring at him, assumedly looking for a longer response, and Fenris struggled to fill the growing silence. "You tell quite the tall tales."

"I'm only five four, Fenris, my tales have a height quota to fill." He got the boys around him laughing heartily at that, but all Fenris did was scowl.

"Easy there, Broody. You not a fan of jokes?"

Fenris grit his teeth and mashed a spork into his suspicious pile of mashed potatoes. Not a fan of jokes... an understatement. As far as personalities went, his was practically nonexistent. Except he did like apple juice. And he did think Hawke was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But he hated being laughed at; it reminded him of- of-

He cut off the thought. If this Varric character was the one in charge it wouldn't do to antagonize him. "I'm laughing on the inside," he shot back.

Varric's grin split his face in half. "We'll convert you yet!" He took a swig of his apple juice with gusto, and Fenris thought he held it as if he was trying to convince himself it was ale. "So," his voice dropped an octave and he raised an eyebrow suggestively. "You met the doctor yet?"

Fenris sputtered on his drink, coughing deeply. "I... There are several doctors here, if you have not noticed." Fenris most certainly did _not_ wish to speak of his visit with Hawke. The memory of her eyes in his mind lingered. They had been scorched into his blackened, undeserving heart. So beautiful, so kind, pleading. Instead of pleading for answers, Fenris found himself wishing that they would plead for his touch, his voice, his lips- "If you mean someone specific, perhaps being direct might serve your purpose better."

"Dr. Fly-me-to-the-moon?"

"Ms. Sinners-Welcome?" another suggested.

"Sex on legs?"

"I'd make her whole _any_ day," a man from behind him chuckled.

Varric laughed. "Easy boys. You'll know her when you see her, Fenris," he paused, one side of his mouth quirking up, "but from that pretty blush I'd say you know exactly who we're talking about: dear Dr. Hawke."

Fenris visibly stiffened and fire ravaged its way through his veins. It infuriated him to hear these men speak of Hawke in such a fashion. More disturbing was the jealousy that urged Fenris to rip the throats out of each laughing man at the table. Sex on legs... ridiculous and degrading but truer than he was willing to admit. So true, that one would have needed to be blind to miss the doctor's alluring assets.

Fenris swallowed thickly, attempting to quell the heat in his face and loins. "I have met her. She is a doctor like any other," he mumbled.

The ox of a man a few seats down from Varric laughed mirthlessly and the table quieted noticeably, as if holding their breaths. "Next time the bitch tries to drug me up, I'll turn her over and do what I did to the others. I bet she'd scream. I like the ones that scream," he finished darkly, crushing his juice box in massive palms and staring with glassy, baleful eyes at the table.

A deathly silence came over the table and Varric looked markedly uncomfortable as Fenris' body tensed. "Um, buddy, that's not—"

Fenris snapped.

He jumped forward and seized the other inmate by his shirt collar, hefting him to his feet with little trouble despite the man's gargantuan frame. How he _dared_ to speak of Hawke in such a fashion was incomprehensible to Fenris. Hawke was a kind woman with nothing but good intentions and perhaps foolhardy hope. The wretch's loathsome words rattled him to the bone, more than they should have; Fenris had no grounds to be protective or jealous.

He fought to keep his expression as stoic as normal, though rage ripped apart his insides and screamed to be released. He could not see his victim's face for the haze of rage on the edges of his vision, though he suspected there was fear writ on the man's formerly smug face. "I should like to see you try," he growled up at the foul mouthed brute, "I will take pleasure in liberating you of that tongue, should you so much as touch her."

Varric stood quickly, smile fading, and got between the two men. "Alright break it up. We don't want to start a scene here—"

But it was too late.

Security had caught wind and were on them in a flash. The men who had been sitting at the table vanished, scurrying away like rats, leaving only Varric and Fenris who was still growling at the man who had disrespected Hawke.

_Loyal bastard,_ Varric thought fondly as an orderly dragged him off. _This'll make a bloody fine story._

* * *

Fenris paced the psychiatric cell, looking for all the world like a caged animal. He had no issues in serving his three years in quiet, letting fool doctors traipse around his secrets as he remained mired in his own guilt and obscurity. But they made _her_ tend to his psychiatric needs. That woman so Maker-damned perfect that his heart couldn't help but want to protect her, and when that pig had threatened to touch her yesterday...though he didn't understand his outburst, he did not regret it. Spending the rest of the day in his cell was a small price to pay. He'd barely slept, opting instead to do more push-ups than he cared to count. Fenris waited anxiously, fuming, for Hawke to arrive.

* * *

Hawke straightened her blazer. Varric had told her what happened the day before, how Fenris had 'fought to protect her honor' as he had so poetically put it. Hawke had had to repress the flutter of giddiness at how quickly he had risen to defend her, protect her. No one had ever stood up for her like that. As the oldest, and the unofficial head of her family, Hawke had always been clever and independent. She had stood up for herself, had never had another to fight for her. To have that would imply that she had someone of the more...intimate nature. But she had always been busy with school or work, and she loved what she did. Hawke wouldn't trade her life for anything. Sometimes though, when she saw old couples in the park, or teenagers making out like, well, teenagers, Hawke couldn't help but wonder if there was someone out there for her, whom she could protect and in turn be protected by, perhaps.

But that was wildly irrelevant.

She nodded at Aveline before she knocked twice and entered the conference room where Fenris waited.

"Good morning, Fenris." Hawke smiled slightly. "Why don't we sit down?"

Fenris wheeled about in time to see the object of his mad infatuation walk through the door in a neat, form fitting blazer. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You were told of what transpired yesterday?"

"Yes," Hawke stated slowly. "Varric painted quite the picture but I'd like to hear it from you." She sat at the table and waited, hands clasped in front of her. Fenris' eyes were wild, like some feral beast kept in a zoo habitat far too small.

Fenris cast his eyes to her, as if searching for the answer to his turmoil in her pretty face. She looked so fragile, and he was filled with rage once more at the thought of that filth wrenching Hawke's graceful neck as he reached for her shirt buttons- Fenris exhaled, the sound similar to a growl.

"He had particularly distasteful and violent ideas about-" he cut himself off and stalked to face her. "You cannot continue to treat him, he is dangerous. Find someone else."

"Fenris," she started softly. "It doesn't work like that. His history is similar to yours, and in time he can hopefully heal." She looked directly at him. "Just like you will."

Fenris grit his teeth, trying to reign in his mounting anger. She compared him to that monster? Is that truly how Hawke saw him?

"That isn't good enough," he said lowly. "He is beyond reconciling, and you will not risk yourself by permitting him as a patient." He leaned in close. "I will not allow it."

Hawke felt her heart skip a beat before redoubling its tempo. He was so close. _Too close_, a little voice in her head added, the rational reaction to a violent criminal being within her personal space. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "I'm sorry but that's out of my hands, and yours as well."

Her breath fanned over him, warm and spiced and heady. The last woman who he had been this close with had been Hadriana, and he had been ordered to throw his hand down her flowing dress at Danarius' command, bringing her to climax as his superiors watched. She had smelled sickeningly sweet- too of much amber cologne and cigarettes. At his master's estate there was a little spice garden just around the corner of his room. Fenris would run there on his brief and fleeting meal breaks. It was a solace that he rarely enjoyed. Hawke smelled like that spice garden after a heavy rain, where the earth and the trees and even Fenris himself felt washed clean, if only for a moment.

Fenris felt like he was drowning in her. He leaned his hands in the arms of her chair for support, meekly responding, "I will not be responsible for my actions if you are harmed."

Hawke opened and closed her mouth, searching for the right words. Perhaps it was in his nature, to protect those around him. "Do you respond that way when anyone around you is threatened?"

Fenris looked away, trying to put a clamp down on the stirrings in his lower stomach. Heat began to flood through his veins, settling on his cheeks, pleasant and unfamiliar and mortifying. "No. But you are..." he searched for the word. "Something. Different. I would not see you hurt."

Hawke blushed and smiled, enamoured by the way Fenris struggled to explain his feelings. Perhaps her presence reminded him of someone, a sister or a friend or past lover perhaps. Or perhaps, and more likely, she guessed, he merely though defending women was the right and honorable thing to do. But suddenly Hawke was overwhelmingly curious to know _why _it was she whom he had decided to latch on to. "Have you been in a relationship before, Fenris?"

Fenris stood back immediately, crimson burning on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Not that I am aware of. Not consensually. Not in conventional terms," he said bitterly, recalling Danarius and his clammy, oiled hand wrapped around his neck while the other would venture south and away.

"I see," Hawke said carefully. "What about meaningful friendships?" He can't have spent his whole life alone, Hawke tried to reason to herself. But from the look in Fenris' eyes she could believe that he had never known true affection or care.

"No," he replied, equally as cautious. Though her question was uncomfortable, it provided ample distraction from the way the doctor's blazer skimmed over her waist. "I was not permitted to speak with anyone unaffiliated with my master. And before the markings..." He turned back toward Hawke. "I cannot remember."

"You speak of a master, what exactly do you mean? Or who?" Hawke had some ideas from her files, but information coming from him was worth more than any she could find in records.

"Danarius." Fenris approached Hawke once more. "For your safety I will not speak of him further," he said icily, his hate for the man thrumming, festering in his mind. Should he implicate Hawke in any way with Danarius- should Hawke be harmed because he was too weak to keep quiet…. "Why can't you understand that I only want to keep you from harm?"

"I appreciate your concern, but Danarius has no way of finding out what is said here." Hawke looked into Fenris' eyes, unreadable emotion swirling in the unearthly green of them. She worried that he was trading one master for another; it wouldn't do for him to become too attached to her. "We've only known each other a few days," she started softly. "You aren't held responsible for my safety, but thank you for offering."

"You underestimate his ability to collect information," Fenris replied quickly. "That you are associated with me at all will be to your detriment. And I am not offering to protect you." He looked at her with a face she would never forget then. "I _will_ keep you safe."

_That's...no one's ever—_she stopped herself, shaking her head. Now was no time to dwell on the past. She met his eyes again, his eyes that were always so full of fury and passion. She decided to change the direction of this conversation. "Has anyone ever protected you?"

"No one has had my interests in mind before. It was not necessary." _This is dangerous_, Fenris thought hazily "I was a tool, I am a tool," he leaned in close, his nose nearly brushing Hawke's and she stopped breathing. "I will serve to keep you safe."

This was wrong. She was supposed to help _him_. And helping didn't normally include being this close. He was beautiful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, but he was not hers. Fenris may not be as out of touch as some of her other patients, but he was still in need of healing. This would only confuse both of them.

Carefully, mindful of what she had read and what she had been taught, she put her hand on his upper arm.

Fenris tensed at Hawke's touch, his body expecting pain. All it was met with, however, was the gentle heat of her fingers. Still, out of instinct he reared back and away from her hand.

Three sharp knocks sounded at the door.

Aveline was waiting out in the hall to escort Fenris back to his room, and reality hit Hawke in the face like a swift punch. She cleared her throat and moved to rummage in her bag.

"Here, this is yours," she handed him a small, blank notebook, a box of markers and a safe-pen. Her fingers just touched his, and from his expression she knew he was as keenly aware of that as she. "I want you to write. It doesn't have to be anything in particular, just whatever comes to mind. Please be ready to share something on our next private visit."

His mouth opened and then snapped shut again as he took the proffered items in hand, staring down at them as if it were vipers and not writing instruments she had given to him.

"I'll see you Monday, bright and early for our group session. Have a good night, Fenris."

"I- thank you," he said haltingly.

Another set of knocks and a quick smile and she was out the door, hair a mess and papers clutched haphazardly in her hands.

* * *

Fenris clutched the little notebook for hours after Aveline brought him back. Terror writhed within him, anger and hate and s_hame_.

He couldn't read. He most certainly could not write. Fenris' eyes grew wide as his mind created a thousand scenes of Hawke scoffing at him, screaming at him, or even more painful, saying nothing at all, disappointment writ clear on her face.

He sat in his room- more a cell, considering he couldn't leave - and stroked the cover of the book. Then he threw it against the wall. Then he picked it up again.

He had nothing to say. He had nothing worth saying. How would he tell Hawke? She had looked at him and he had seen hope in her eyes. She believed in him. And he was going to kill all that with his stupidity.

He had been given a box of markers to use. They sat mocking him.

Finally, after a good hour of indecision, he picked up a marker. A red one. It seemed fitting, red was a strong color, a color that _meant_ something. Perhaps it would say what he could not.

He couldn't read, he couldn't write. He couldn't run and he couldn't stay.

But Maker help him, he would draw.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Monday morning, Hawke entered the hospital with a small spring in her step. There were fat grey clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening rain and becoming a ruin to autumn picnics everywhere, but she didn't mind. This morning she had woken up and had her shower with embrium shampoo and loofa in hand (which had been a fantastic way to wash off the wonderfully filthy remnants of the day prior), a spicy cup of herbal tea, and Teagan actually cooperated and relinquished her slippers on the first try.

But best of all, she got to see Fenris again. Usually it would be days before the two had another meeting, and while this wasn't a private session, just seeing his face was enough to make her hopeful for the day ahead. It was going to be a good morning, Hawke could feel it.

Pushing the doors of the building open, Hawke sent the receptionist a friendly wave and meandered down the hall. Her patients should have been assembled and ready, and if things went to plan everyone was going to have a beneficial chat with each other. Hopefully they could find some kind of solace in each other's experience; at worst they might bring out the worst of their psychosis and try to beat each other to death with it. But it was going to be a good morning, she was _sure_ of it. Hawke reached the last room on the left and entered quickly.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

* * *

Fenris sat at the round table, fidgeting uncomfortably in the chair he had been assigned. He clutched his book before him, running his hands over it, trying to find the words to explain this whole mess to Hawke.

"So, I see Broody's acquired a diary?" Varric's sly smile and raised eyebrows were pointed at the silver-haired man.

"This is not a diary." Fenris brought the book closer to himself on instinct.

"Really," Varric drawled. "Then let me read it."

"No."

"Why?"

"I need not explain myself to you."

Varric laughed. "Have we decided to speak in Old English?" At Fenris' glare he sighed dramatically and sat back in his chair. "Fine, fine; keepeth thy secrets."

The clatter of heels drew the attention of the men, and sure enough, Hawke strode in.

Fenris felt himself blush a little, just seeing her made him feel off-guard, like he was missing something. He wished he had his gun with him. At least then he'd feel less...vulnerable.

"Hello," he murmured, and was practically eclipsed by Varric's enthusiastic greeting.

"Dr. Hawke! If it isn't the most charming lady in the house," he smiled roguishly at her and winked.

Fenris positively glared at the small man. Hawke was _his_ damn it.

Hawke rolled her eyes good-naturedly, motioning for the short man to take his seat again. "Thank you Varric, but I still won't sneak in Bianca from your three story villa in the city," she said dryly, referring back to one of his more memorable tales. "And I should remind you that flattering your psychiatrist won't get you extra medication."

She flit her eyes to Anders, who broodily inspected her over the nails he was pretending to clean. It was going to be interesting to see if he would participate today; he'd been so quiet the past few weeks. But as she looked for her clipboard, his eyes began to track her movements, following every motion attentively. Hawke would have to address that matter sooner or later, though she banked on later.

And then there was Fenris.

He was holding the notebook she had passed along to him (a medium sized, neatly bound paper journal), reverently skimming his fingers along its spine. Hawke could still recall how he had reacted when she'd touched him, the foreign expression equal parts uncertainty and awe, and wildly she wondered what his face would look like if he were to touch _her_-

She shivered and took her seat, clip board in lap and pen in hand, and shoved away errant wanderings. His eyes were lost in thought, far away, but when he turned them to hers... Hawke felt her heart hammer in her chest. "I-It's good to see you this morning. Let's start off with everyone's mood today; tell us in one word, and tell us why," Hawke began, the cheer in her voice almost surprising her.

"Feelin' fine and having a good time. Nothing new really," Varric replied, lifting his chair to balance on the two back legs and crossing his ankles on the table.

His expectedly suave answer was devoid of actual feeling, as it usually was. _Multiple layer cake that one_, Hawke thought to herself.

Both Hawke and Varric were looking at him expectantly. "Content," he murmured, after a moment. "Because..." He had no good reason, really. _Hawke_. But that wouldn't do to say in front of the others. "Because they have excellent juice here."

Fenris' answer was short, cooperative and quite unexpectedly adorable.

When it was Anders' turn to share, he cast his brown eyes toward the window. He didn't care if he was being petulant, ignoring their doctor and sulking. He had reason to sulk; his medication has been increased again. There was no medical reason for him to be taking 200 mg of Trazaphetamine a day when there wasn't anything wrong with him.

"Anders? How are you feeling today?"

He snorted and looked disdainfully at Hawke. She had no right to look so beautiful, act so gentle. It was all dirty ploy to get him to cooperate. "Just _super_, thanks," he spat, "they increased my medication so I feel positively sedated."

Fenris turned his gaze to the man by the window. He immediately decided he disliked Anders.

"Do not speak to her like that," he growled, lips pulling back to snarl and murder in his eyes.

Varric looked on, surprised by the intensity of Fenris' words and actions. He looked ready to tear Anders apart. Limb from limb. With his bare hands. Slowly.

Hawke raised her hand slightly, motioning gently downward. "Simmer down, everyone," she said gently, catching Fenris' eye just long enough to flirt with suspicion. She flicked her eyes back to Anders, who glared at Fenris with a tangible loathing. "Your medication is never taken lightly, Anders. You should know that. Besides, it isn't rat poison, it should help with the nightmares you've been having."

Anders snorted. "One nightmare and suddenly I'm certifiable again. You people are the lunatics." He stiffened and blushed as Hawke's eyes flashed with well-concealed, barely perceptible pain.

Fenris saw the flash of raw emotion in Hawke's eyes and he had felt his heart flip in his chest. He knew that look; it was pain. He almost said something, but now seemed neither the time nor place

"Well, I mean um, not you specifically, but... Meredith. Orsino, Elthina. You know," he amended lamely. Hawke didn't deserve his anger, but if he couldn't get it out, couldn't channel his rage, then he would come out to play. "Their treatment to patients is cruel and extreme. Surely you agree."

Hawke cleared her throat and fiddled with her clipboard. "I am not partisan to hospital politics, and neither should any of you be. Your wellbeing is my priority, just as recovery should be yours."

.

Varric turned to the blonde man and raised an eyebrow. "Somebody needs a chill pill. Oh, wait. You have 200 mg of those."

Anders was about to retort when Hawke cut in swiftly. "Varric, let's try not to bait the situation, alright? Now I have an activity for us to try and-"

Hawke dropped her clipboard on the floor as she stood, files scattering along the floor. She quickly bent forward, gathering them as quickly as possible. _Stupid, clumsy, why do I even _have_ this many papers?_ Hawke thought miserably as she attempted to collect her things. Anders and Varric still seemed to be going at their argument while Fenris was silent, more than likely glaring at them- she felt rough finger brush hers and she looked up quickly.

Fenris' hand barely met hers, both of them were clutching the suddenly nearly-meaningless papers, and on his face was a look that made her heart fall apart. Hawke was stunned, frozen, and her pulse skipped several beats as a blush crept up her cheeks.

Fenris held her gaze for a moment longer, trying desperately to convey how he felt when he wasn't even sure he knew himself. Varric chuckled and they both flew into motion, Fenris handing her the papers and Hawke's blush intensifying.

Fenris' eyes were lighter then, lighter than they had been when they were together the day before. There was sincerity, timid and shy affection just beginning to creep out of. _Why,_ she thought wildly, _why me and why now and how can I not botch this up, I want him to trust me-_

"Thank you," she whispered, instead.

Varric laughed loudly and sent Hawke flying back to focus. _Maker I've been so unprofessional lately... _ Hawke cleared her throat once more, attempting to temper her raging blush by moving on to the next activity. She did not catch the glare Anders sent her way, nor the knowing gleam in Varric's eyes as she moved to the whiteboard in the room.

"Today, we'll be talking about our fears," Hawke announced. "I want you to think of some of your smallest and greatest fears. Spiders, the dark, anything. And we'll start with... Varric. Go ahead."

Varric smirked. "Fear? I have none. I love my life." At Hawke's questioning look his smile widened. "Alright there doc, no need to get your panties in a twist." He caught the look Fenris shot to him and then Hawke and practically bellowed in laughter. "If I had to choose one... I don't really like heights but I'm practically a dwarf so that's not really an issue. Good enough?"

Hawke got the uneasy feeling that Varric was privy to information beyond his station as a correctional institution ward. But, with a chipper affirmation she wrote his word down on the white board. "Good, good! Heights can be very disconcerting." Hawke brightened. This was a good start, promising. "Fenris?"

_Fear_. There was so much he was afraid of. He feared Danarius. Hadriana. He feared to stay and he feared to go. He feared being found and feared being forgotten. He looked into Hawke's grey eyes. Fenris knew then he was afraid to lose her. It was irrational, illogical and ludicrous, but he wanted her to be safe because people like her did not last long. Should something happen to her... Those responsible would pay dearly.

He tried to think of something less soul baring. Fenris disliked needles and people touching his throat, or people touching him at all. There. That would do. "I fear touch."

Hawke turned back over her shoulder and glanced at Fenris' eyes. He had them fixed on the wall beside her whiteboard, seeing nothing, everything. When they had spent their few moments together, that wonderful, intriguing half hour, they had touched in a manner that wasn't just physical, but still she remembered how he'd reeled back. She wondered if he had ever felt touch that didn't bring pain. Caresses. Whispers. Gentle and sweet. Things that spoke of something more than pain or pleasure... Guilt gnawed at her core as she wrote his word on the wall. It would never be her place to touch any part of him. "Touch... Um, right. Good. Anders?"

Anders frowned, staring at Hawke, following the curve of her hip down the narrow plane of her calf. What did he fear? There was nothing that his anger couldn't drown out, his rage. The injustices against mental patients, their mistreatment, their _suffering_. "I fear an unjust system that exploits for no reason other than to watch the weak squirm." He hated the official psychiatrists at the Kirkwall facility. Unjust and cruel and malevolent, but... Not Hawke. She was different. He snarled and looked away, trying to tune out Justice and his insistent cries. _So loud, louder every day._

Varric and Fenris look on with varying degrees of shock on their faces. "Calm down there, buddy," Varric chuckled nervously. Anders had always been a pariah, moody and angry, easily riled. The only thing he could stand to talk about for more than two minutes was the plight of the residents of the looney bin.

Hawke cringed slightly at Anders' caustic tone. If vengeance had a face... "We'll address that little tidbit later, yes? For now let's just write 'injustices' up here and..." she scrawled the word out in her too-tilted cursive. "Perfect. Now, I want you all to think of something good, no, one of the best things that's ever happened to you. Anders?"

Anders huffed at Hawke but grudgingly offered forward a reply. "When I... Made a difference. For a patient. I helped someone realize peace." Hawke smiled brightly at him and then, for a staggering and terrible second, Anders felt warmth in his heart while his brain began to quiet. She wrote the word 'peace' on the board carefully and turned to Varric expectantly.

Varric put all four legs on the floor and twined his fingers together. "I believe, doc, I've told you about the best thing that's ever happened to me." He smiled, a little wistfully, and stared at the board as if it was a portal to the past.

"Bianca," he murmured almost reverently. "That lady was–" he barked a wry laugh, "extraordinary to say the least. This one time she and I went to the-" He caught Hawke's raised eyebrow and laughed again. "Well, I guess that's a story for another time."

Hawke scripted 'Bianca' out as carefully as possible, fondly recalling the woman, the legend. What a story that had been. What a lady. In the end, there was more to the charming rogue than met the eye, and he was just beginning to unravel his secrets, to trust.

_Trust_...

She turned to Fenris, who had been scratching away in his notebook as the others shared their details. If he wasn't staring a burning, intense hole into her back, that is. "And you, Fenris?"

Fenris looked up from the book. He wished to be honest, but was not about to put Hawke in jeopardy. His best experience by far had been the fleeting moment of understanding he'd felt with her. What they had shared was...special. Not in the conventional way, but in a way which he had trouble articulating. He touched the brown paper book absently before looking at it thoughtfully. "Receiving this," he stated, surely yet softly enough to convey the deeper meaning of it. "I have never been given anything before."

Hawke's heart made a leap into her throat; the sudden urge to take the man into her arms and hold him was as strong as it was absolutely forbidden. It couldn't have really been the only gift he'd ever received, but then again... His file had indicated complete amnesia. Tests were done. That was a life Fenris risked never getting back. Hawke hadn't wanted to give him that silly notebook; she wanted to give him more. She wanted to give him everything he had ever been denied. _He deserves that much_ _at_ _least_ she said to herself. "And what makes it so significant to you?"

Fenris stared down at it, trying to find the words to explain why. "It is mine," he said slowly, testing the strange words. "I have the freedom to do what I want with it." He looked up at Hawke.

"I can keep it safe."

Hawke stared at him with dawning comprehension, a look that morphed into understanding. Words failed her, and the soft conviction of Fenris' voice had spirited her breath away. Slowly, she wrote the last word on the wall. _Freedom_. To breathe, to own, to hold, to love... Hawke would get to the bottom of Fenris and his past, and if it was the last thing she ever did she would see the man freed of what plagued him.

"What you will do now," Hawke began after finding her timid voice, "might affect how you see things. I'll give you a marker, and you can make _one_ mark on the board." She doled out the whiteboard markers one by one, consciously avoiding the slide of her fingertips against Fenris' knuckles. "Cross out a word. Either, but not both."

Varric crossed out his word – his fear, height- quickly and without much fuss. Anders crossed off his better experience, muttering as he did so, "There can be no peace."

Fenris lingered. He seemed confused, staring at the board but not seeing it really. Anders was tempted to snark, but Hawke looked... Captivating as she chewed her nail and watched the dog. Distracting. Beautiful.

Fenris stared. Two words were written beautifully on the board. And he had no idea what they meant. He held his green marker hesitantly, eyes flitting back and forth between the two. Letters swam around each other, shifting and morphing the longer he looked.

He was an uneducated cretin who had no idea what was before him. Fenris felt his hand tremble and realized he was clutching the pen with white fists.

Anders smirked, deigning to lift his sights off the swell of Hawke's ass in order to zero in on Fenris.

"Get on with it," he muttered.

"Quiet," Fenris snarled back.

"It's not rocket science, imbecile. Choose a word."

He did not move.

"What, can't you read?" It took a second before the white haired dog's hesitation clicked in his mind. As Fenris clenched his fists, Anders eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "You _can't_, can you?" And Maker send him to hell- he laughed. Justice laughed too, and they laughed together. Varric was silent.

Fenris turned on Anders and in a flash was inches away from him. "If you wish to die this day, then continue laughing." His eyes were murderous, on fire with rage and hate and _shame_.

Now everyone knew.

Fenris stepped away, head bowed and eyes closed tight, his entire body tense and shaking. He was sure Hawke was laughing at him right now. He was sure she regretted the time they'd spent together, the hope she had placed on him. _He couldn't even read_. He was worse than a child. Ignorant, violent, dangerous-

Without looking at anyone else, he stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him and cutting of the sound of orderlies running and shouting.

Hawke could have strangled Anders, and felt anger boil in her veins. _Neutral party, no biased doctor. No conflict of interest, no personal investment.._.. Taking a slow breath she turned to the gloating blonde. "Some of us do not lead simple and hardship free lives, Anders. Not everyone has had the same opportunities," she said tightly. "All of us have our shortcomings, as I am sure you're aware."

Not one moment later, Aveline entered the room. "Donnic just found your renegade, Hawke. Sent him to his room for the day. I'm here for your other charges," the redhead nodded towards the door. "Off to the mess hall with you two, and then to the common area. See you at break Hawke."

"I, er, yes, thank you Aveline."

Hawke gathered her things quickly and headed slowly back to her office, eyes tight with the weight of all that had happened. She had to find Fenris. And she had to make him understand.

* * *

Fenris sat in his room, where he had been banished for the day, with his head in his hands. Every muscle in his body was tense- a testament to the tightness in his heart. He had been a fool to think that Hawke could have ever thought-

Snarling, he threw his fist at the walls before him.

Anders had been right to laugh at him. He was pitiful. Weak. Unworthy.

Danarius would come to claim him soon and all this would be over any way. There would be no joy in his life, Fenris had come to terms with that long ago when Hadriana and Danarius' cold, cruel laughter had rang out above him during the first days he remembered.

Fenris wound his hands tighter in his hair, the white hair that _they_ had given to him, uncaring of the blood that matted it. He hated them, he feared them, and he was more the fool for thinking he could ever protect Hawke, or that this place offered him any sanctuary.

He was as alone here as he'd ever been.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Clack, clack, _clack_. Maker these shoes were loud. The one day she decided to wear pumps to the hospital was of course the day she decided to creep about it like a cat burglar. Hawke slipped off her troublesome shoes and snuck around the corner of the residential wing, her heart thumping a little as nerves began to take her.

She really wasn't supposed to be doing this.

The psychiatrists weren't supposed to be alone with patients behind closed doors without proper proceedings. Her time with Fenris had been carefully set up and controlled; that Aveline had left her was a bit suspect, but she would talk to her about it later. For now, she needed to see Fenris.

He had seemed so lost when he stormed from the room. Defeated. All Hawke wanted to do was put the pieces back together for him, but she also had to learn more. A man of about thirty should have been taught to read long before. If Danarius really had induced his amnesia, and kept him from learning, then possibility of escape was totally eradicated. Where could a man go where would be able to navigate illiterate?

_What a nightmare…. _Hawke checked the coast for clearance before bolting to his door at the end of the wing. She darted inside and gently, _carefully_ closed the heavy metal door behind her. Fenris had been put under isolation, so that at least gave them some legitimate time.

Fenris looked up, instantly alert and taking in the figure in his room while drawing back on his cot towards the wall . His eyes adjusted to the light and he suddenly realized just who was in his room.

_Hawke_.

He looked her up and down, believing her to be a figment of his imagination until she turned to him and did not simply disappear. Fenris tried to swallow whatever was threatening to boil over inside him and resolved to sound less insane than he felt. "I believe you misplaced your shoes, Doctor."

Hawke smiled at him, a little sheepishly. "They're not so conducive to sneaking about the hospital in prohibited areas," she replied, letting the heels drop to the floor. Hawke opened her bag and withdrew the brown journal, holding it carefully and stroking the spine.

She hadn't opened it. That was territory Fenris needed to permit her to walk through. There was one thing burning on the tip of her tongue, however, and she would say it first. "I am sorry about Anders today. He acted wrongly. And, I… I didn't know."

Fenris felt heat rising in his face, a combination of anger and shame and something he couldn't quite explain. He saw the book in her hands and felt his humiliation redouble. She had probably looked at his childish drawings, scoffed at how little he understood. Fenris couldn't look at her. He didn't dare face whatever was held in those dark grey eyes.

Fenris didn't look up. Hawke knelt before him, sliding the book into his lap and placing her hands on her knees. "Oh, Fenris..." She reached up with her free hand as if to touch his jaw-

Hawke felt her heart crack as he looked away, turning from the prospect of her touch and ignoring the book in his lap. What had he done with it, if he could not write? "I... I haven't looked inside. I wanted you to have it back; it's yours," she said quietly. "Can you forgive me?"

He turned his head away to hold back the strange stirrings she caused in him. Fenris knew he didn't deserve her kindness, her trust. Yet here she was, on her knees before him, offering back what she had given him and he had callously left behind. And she was asking for _his_ forgiveness. He should be the one begging on the floor. He was the one who had failed her.

Carefully, he ran a finger over the brown cover. She hadn't looked at it. Hawke truly was a wonder, waiting for him, guiding him and offering him time. He opened his eyes and took in her face, shadowed with only the dark of his cell and regret. "You have done nothing wrong. It is my failing," he said quietly. "I'm sorry," he breathed, barely audible.

Hawke rose up slightly, bringing their faces more level. "No, no... You don't have to apologize. Please don't. Fenris, this doesn't define you. It doesn't."

He felt incredulous and undeserving, but he _yearned-_

Fenris touched her hand gently, tentatively returning the trust Hawke offered so freely. Her touch did not burn like Danarius' or Hadriana's, instead it felt almost…pleasant. The sensation was enough to calm him. He pulled away after a moment, leaning back to look at the book, to touch it as he had touched her, softly and hesitantly.

Hawke's eyes followed his hands down to the journal. She flicked them back to Fenris as she studied his face. Calmer, but resigned, and his eyes were focused intently on the notebook between them now. _So much indecision, so much turbulence between us. _

But it looked like he wanted to speak. She could work with that. Hesitantly, Hawke began, "Do... Do you want to show me what you've done?"

He nodded and came to sit on the floor next to Hawke, book in his lap. He looked at her, took in her sad smile, and opened it. Hawke leaned in closer and the images materialized before her.

Hawke's eyes widened. A beautifully rendered sketch of Kirkwall was settled landscape on two pages of the book. Hawke could see the port, and the statues of the gallows past the low roofs of lowdown, and just a couple of Hightown's elegant, spire like rooftops. It was drawn in red marker, a color bolder than he, his favorite which he'd used for all his drawings.

It was stunning, and she said nothing for a moment, waiting for him to turn to the next page. Another few sketches of Kirkwall, places she recognized and places that she didn't. People, of varying heights and status, were sketched artfully and delicately across previously blank papers. "Fenris. These are just..." she couldn't find an accurate description. "They're incredible."

He looked at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to laugh or say she didn't mean it.

She never did.

Fenris flipped through the sketches, not realizing before it was too late that he had reached the page where he had drawn Hawke. "I, er, I do not mean to- That is, I have no wish to make you uneasy," he stammered nervously. He felt himself turn red to the tips of his ears. She would think him strange for sure now. It was too late to close it now, she had already seen. _Idiot_, he chided himself. He didn't know much about interacting with people, but it seemed almost inappropriate to draw someone without their consent. He hated that he didn't know what was normal. He looked to Hawke, trying to contain the apprehension in his stare.

Hawke froze. There she was, drawn to stunning detail on the right side of the page. Fenris had captured everything. The wave in her hair beside her left ear, the length in her nose and the pout in her lip that Bethany had always teased her for. The gray he used for her eyes, eyes she used to think were too dark, entirely unremarkable... Fenris made them appear sharp and intelligent.

No one had ever paid such close attention to her. She was Hawke with the big dog and arms full of papers, hustling about in a tornado of scattered to do lists and plucky sticktoitiveness. But he saw past all that. Fenris saw something in her that she couldn't see in herself. She felt her throat tightening.

_This is the epitome of inappropriate,_ she chided herself.

Hawke carefully set the book down on the floor, and turned to the man beside her. He looked like he was waiting for her to strike him. Hawke leaned in slightly, unknowingly. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice quiet. "It is beautiful."

"Would you...like to have it?" he offered, taking in the emotions on her face. Her eyes looked ready to cry, but her expression conflicted with that, her mouth curved up and parted slightly in an expression almost reminiscent of happiness. "It is yours if you wish it."

Hawke shook her head but her smile broadened. "You should keep it. That way when I can't see you I'll be there, you know?" She pressed her hand to her mouth immediately. "That is um, assuming you'd want me here. I understand if the other day was only..."

She shook her head. _Lovely, Hawke, you are a _gem_. Truly._

Fenris returned her smile hesitantly. "I will keep it. What I promised you. I meant it."

His words from before echoed in her head, _I will protect you._

Hawke's eyes brightened slightly, and warmth spread from her cheeks down. It felt good to speak with him like this, just the two of them, no prescriptions or planned dialogue.

They were very close, Fenris realized. And she was beautiful. Hawke was nothing like Hadriana with her warm grey eyes and easy kindness. Hadriana had been the only other woman he had been in regular contact with, and she had been a nightmare. He shuddered at the thought of what she had done to him. It was... not good to dwell on those memories.

Fenris was quiet still, lost in his own memories. Hawke chanced a look, only to find him staring hard at nothing. He looked afraid too, his shoulders painfully tensed. Fenris deserved better memories than those he kept. They would get to the crux of his problems, and work for his peace of mind, but Hawke yearned to ease his pain.

"Just take a breath with me, alright?"

Fenris inhaled and turned his gaze down. The memories faded slowly, but he could not bring himself to focus on the present completely. Shadows flickered at the edge of his vision and cruel laughter echoed hollowly off the walls of the suddenly too-tight room. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe as Hawke had instructed him to. "I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment, hand resting lamely in his lap, "I feel like such a fool."

"No, Fenris." Hawke laid her hand tentatively next to his, barely touching his thumb. It was roughened, callous from use, and to her surprise he did not react. "You are so many things," she began softly. "You are a survivor. You are protective, and compassionate. You're an artist. But you are not a fool."

He sneered, shaking his head. "Any chance I had to build something was taken from me. These hands were made to be weapons, crafted for _killing,_ Hawke. I am nothing more than a tool for my master."

"You are right," she said softly, and he blanched at that, looking up. "Your hands are tools. But…. You're the master of them now. You can choose how they're used. You could sketch with them or you could kill me right now if you wanted to. You have the choice."

Fenris' eyebrows came together in confusion. He drew his hand back, coiling it away from her delicate fingers. "No. I would never- I could never- do such a thing."' Hawke was the only thing he'd found that was worthy of preservation. She was the first beautiful thing he had ever coveted.

"Then you've answered your question, Fenris." Hawke murmured. "I'll help you see all the things these hands are capable of. What _you_ are capable of."

He nodded, unsure at first but with more certainty as he thought on her words. She smiled at him, and Fenris could feel as clearly as he could see that she was proud of him. It was a strange thing, to have done nothing yet be rewarded for his choice to do so. Still, he found himself more at ease than he had since before group. He was safe now with Hawke, far away from everyone and everything else.

Fenris' hands traced idle patterns up the notebook and down again, carefully and methodically. He stared at her, almost as if studying her. Hawke met his gaze, sitting back before taking him in in turn.

Fenris was muscled from head to toe, lean and strong. She wondered what other jobs Danarius required of him that required such strength. Hawke pulled back as she remembered his words of the other day. All the while his hand traces a mesmerizing pattern across the spine of the his journal and her mind wandered dangerously before drifting back to what he had said to her before. _I've not been in a relationship. Conventionally or consensually_.

"Fenris, has there really been no one else?"

"No one that I can recall," _And if I have my way there will be no one else. No one save you, Hawke_. "Only Danarius and Hadriana made use of my… other services. They loaned me out to whomever they saw fit as well."

He was looking at her strangely, waiting for her reaction but taking her in with calculating eyes. "I see," she said, holding his gaze, feeling keenly the weight of this interaction.

"They found it amusing," he growled, memories of torture and humiliation mixing with a sudden longing for her. He wanted to be part of the acceptance and understanding she offered. "You have never been owned Hawke," he said lowly. "I was theirs completely, to do with what they wished."

"And you could not leave."

"I had no choice. There was nowhere to run."

"You deserve so much more." She said before she even really realized.

He looked at her then, and the gravity of the moment hit him. This was his chance to say what he couldn't out right.

"I have everything I need here."

She nodded, and Fenris saw that she understood, then.

"I'm here for you, whatever you need."

"Here for me," he mirrored quietly, testing the words. "Truly?"

Hawke nodded slowly, "Yes. I promise," she said.

They both jumped up when a harsh ringing sound reverberated through the room.

Hawke bent down to see her pager blinking an angry red, and since it only ever went off when she had a high-risk patient to tend to she was immediately up.

"I have work to take care of," she said quietly. "I might not be able to see you for a little while. Just... Think on what I said?"

"I will," he said.

Hawke nodded and smiled a little, and the image burned itself into Fenris' mind.

Fenris watched the door snap shut behind Hawke, locking him in with nothing but his memories, a notebook, and the lingering echo of her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Warning: Mentions of rape

* * *

Hawke had rushed in her tottering heels to her next appointment, feeling more and more of the now familiar mix of confusion and giddiness she'd come to know as commonplace since meeting Fenris. As she clicked her way down the linoleum floor of the intended supervision wing, she noted the security gathered at the end of the hall.

_Well this doesn't look good_. "Um, I'm Dr. Hawke, the psychiatrist designated to-" They waved her through before she could finish her sentence, offering a clipped greeting and announcing their station outside the cell before closing her inside of it.

At the table sat a man, maybe a couple years short of forty, with a bald head he made up for with full facial hair and a withering smile. Hawke flipped open her case file. _Otto Alrik. That's an interesting name there._ She'd read the reports from other facilities and doctors and had switched his treatment plan at the behest of the director. "Hello Mr. Alrik. My name is Dr. Hawke. It's a pleasure to meet you." She nodded politely as she sat down across the rickety aluminum table.

"Dr. Hawke," he growled. "I know you. You approved the new meds they've been force feeding me." Alrik sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his massive chest and light, beady eyes focused on the woman before him. She looked like the last bitch he had forced before being caught, the one that had squealed and yelped and had legs as smooth as butter. Ella, her name had been, and Hawke had hair just like her. Alrik took another look at the doctor's pretty face and decided he would have her, whatever it took.

Hawke cleared her throat out of habit before consulting her charts. "Oh, is that so? Funny, I'm quite terrible with faces to names, you know? Let's see here..." She scanned his profile quickly, before tapping her finger on the middle of the page. "You were formerly Dr. Wynne's patient, right Mr. Alrik? How did you like her?"

"Bitch thought I was crazy." Alrik straightened and stared her down, watching as her brow furrowed. "Said it was in my blood."

Hawke nodded, opening up her faded notebook and scratching down a comment. "Crazy is a bit of a harsh term. No behavior is beyond rationalization." She lifted her eyes from her notebook and offered another smile. "Why don't you tell me a little about what you did before you came here."

Alrik leaned forward, smiling eerily through crooked broken teeth and a truly disturbing goatee. "I was a whore's son. Born in Vegas. Ran with the Eastside kids, fought my way up to the top." He paused putting both hands on the table in front of him and flexing. "I loved every minute of it."

Hawke raised her eyebrow at that, but supposed his inclinations toward gang affiliation fit in with his more recent record. "Was there a father in the picture?"

Alrik laughed, a hacking, humorless sound. "Unless you count his dick, then no. Victor was like a father though, showed me the ropes, ruffled my hair. Till I offed him, that is."

Fear gripped her momentarily, forcing an unconscious shiver up her spine. She wrote again in her notebook: _Inclination to be rash, use vulgarity, violent…._ "And did you meet Victor running with the Eastside?"

"Yep." His eyes roamed over her body, resting on her neck and breasts. His hands slid further across the table, not touching Hawke but far too close for comfort.

Hawke retracted her hands quickly from the table, the disgusting shiver rolling its way down her body a second time. Keeping objective in the face of such a patient was proving rather difficult. Alrik had a grizzly exterior, and distinctly psychopathic tendencies, especially towards women. "And your first physical relationship? How was that for you?"

He smiled widely. "It was perfect. She writhed and wailed beneath me. And _screamed_. Bitch had lungs. Tipped her after, but didn't have any Kleenex for the tears." He smiled lewdly at the doctor. "I'm always available if you want a taste, Hawke."

Hawke grit her teeth, striving to keep a neutral tone. "There is no need for vulgarity, Mr. Alrik. I'm simply here to reassess you, no more than that at the moment." Hawke scribbled an aside in her notes as her mind drifted to Fenris. He warned her of this man before, had told her he was dangerous. It appeared he hadn't been wrong. _I will serve to keep you safe._ Hawke shooed away the errant memory of his words and focused back on the man in front of her. "Why do you feel such a tendency to be violent? In your own words."

"You're the one who asked, doc. What did you expect me to say? That we made tender love in a back alley in Vegas? That she looked me in the eye and smiled? Life isn't a fairytale," he spat, _sneered_. "We make do with what we got. And as for my violence, it was put upon me and I _embraced_ it. But I was nice sometimes," he said with a wry smile. "I drugged some of 'em first."

Hawke felt a little sick. "I agree with you; life isn't always perfect. But there are moments that can bring your life from 'making do' to achieving a sense of fulfillment." She chewed on the cap of her pen a moment as Alrik's face went blank. "What makes you happy?"

"Killing. Raping. Destroying. Expressions of power, over people or things or whatever." At the flash of horror in her eyes he quirked an eyebrow. "You, Hawke?"

Hawke nodded and eyed him with a carefully composed expression. "Again, I'm not here to talk about myself, Mr. Alrik. I find myself curious as to _how_ these qualities became so exacerbated in you. . Would you like to talk about your childhood?"

Alrik growled. "No, I don't want to _talk_ about it," he snapped. _Stupid bitch_. "The past is in the past and it should stay there."

"Mr. Alrik, the time you spend with me is court ordered; it will have to pass regardless of your lack of cooperation. But I'd like to use it to help you," she closed her notebook and smiled at him. "We don't have to be at odds. I know together we can make constructive use of our time."

"I can think of a whole lot of uses for our time, but none involve talking." There was something immensely pleasing about watching the smile fade off her pretty pale face.

* * *

Hawke huffed as she clicked down the sterile halls of the ward, juggling her parcels haphazardly. She had been an adult for more than ten years and a doctor for three, yet she still had no talent for walking in heels, let alone walking in them on a slick tile floor while toting packages and files.

And she was late for her two o'clock appointment. Hawke thought briefly on Fenris Argent, her enigmatic charge with the silver hair and nearly glowing brands. _Brands_. How long would that process have taken? And how painful would it have been to endure? It was almost unthinkable, and yet Fenris seemed to pay them little mind. _But I think they cut deeper than that._

Hawke soon arrived at her private therapy room, and squared her shoulders before entering. Fenris stood nearly to attention, wary and alert; staring out the thick, barred off window. He looked like a wolf, staring out from a cage and down onto freedom.

"Sorry for being late. I had to make a pit stop," she apologized, gesturing to her couple of boxes and fat folio of files.

He turned at the sound of her voice, light and smooth. "It's alright," he muttered, shuffling a little as he avoided her eyes.

Hawke smiled, setting down the boxes on the nearest table. She flipped through her folio for Fenris' file. It was comparatively very thin next to the others, barren of personal information and compensating with his convictions, perplexed notes from doctors, and the contact information of the man who bailed him out. On paper he was a ghost, and in life he seemed no more real.

Summoning her resolve she picked up the brown box and thrust it in his direction. "Aveline told me you've been skipping meals. Hungry?"

Hawke was correct in that he hadn't eaten much since he'd came. But in all fairness, he was used to eating little. It was strange to have people so staunchly concerned for his well-being. Strange, but not as unwelcome as he thought it would have been.

He stared at the doughnuts and his stomach growled conspiratorially. He had last eaten...yesterday? Fenris could not remember.

"Thank you," he said softly as he reached forward, still avoiding her gaze. He swallowed as he caught her scent, warm vanilla and spices.

Hawke watched Fenris pick a doughnut with probably too much attention. He looked askance at the many options and hesitated before timidly reaching for a boring glazed doughnut, and it brought a grin to her face that she couldn't explain. It couldn't had been more different from the pink frosting and rainbow sprinkled delicacy that Hawke had chosen for herself.

"You like glazed huh? I can respect that; some people like to live simply."

He nodded and took a seat across from Hawke. Fenris wished he could summon up enough energy to be offended or pleased but in truth, he was tired. It was the kind of fatigue that never really left no matter how many hours he slept.

"I am content enough with what has been given to me."

Hawke hummed in thought as she bit into her confection. "That's a good mentality," she said in between bites. _He looks exhausted_. There were shadows under his green eyes, reflections perhaps of the shadows of his thoughts. "How are you adjusting to the routine here?

She looked so concerned, so genuinely interested in what he thought. Hawke really should have been an actor - her conviction was frighteningly realistic. He took a bite of the strange food and chewed thoughtfully.

"I have no strong feelings one way or another," _except when it comes to my psychiatrist. _ "There are worse things than being told to color for an hour a day," he joked weakly.

Hawke laughed but wasn't fully convinced, not when he looked so very weary. "I'm sure there are less pleasant ways to spend your day. Still, it must be quite different from what you're used to," she remarked, attempting to remain vague and unthreatening.

He nodded. Fenris appreciated that she did not come right out and ask for the gory details of his past. He could almost convince himself that they were just two people, sitting and talking and eating strange food with holes in it.

"You are correct. I far prefer it here."

Hawke shifted in her chair as she watched Fenris finish his doughnut. The blasé tone of Fenris' statement did not undermine its implications. To hear someone say that they preferred a criminal psychiatric ward to their previous life was disconcerting to say the least.

"Would it be too direct if I asked you to elaborate a bit?"

Fenris pulled his knees up to his chest, tucking them beneath his chin. It was an old habit, drawing in on himself, but it was comforting nonetheless.

It was all he could think to do when faced with Hawke's gentle smile.

"I. . . No. It is your job after all, to ask." He paused, unsure of how to actually answer her question. "Here it is predictable. What is expected of me tomorrow differs little from what is expected of me today."

A pang of sympathy shot through Hawke as Fenris curled in on himself. He looked so small in that moment, tucked into a ball and brushing doughnut off his hands. In that moment Hawke wished desperately to heal the cracks in Fenris' heart and mind.

"Routine is comforting, it's stability. You didn't have one outside of here?"

Fenris had never been assure of anything before this. Anything expect for more pain, perhaps. His old life was. . . was-

_Screams and fire and chaos as he runs. Frost on the windshield of a stolen car as he drives away from a hit in silence. Red nails clawing down his back. Hands too soft but too rough tracing over new, burning white lines-_

The change in Fenris' demeanor was subtle but apparent; his fingers dug into his bare forearms, leaving tiny gouges that overlapped silver tattoos and his eyes widened slightly.

_It's something to do with the man who paid out Fenris' bail. Has to be._

Fenris certainly wasn't ready to discuss what had happened to him in depth, of that she was certain. Hawke swallowed thickly as her patient shrunk into himself just a little further. She just wanted to help him, take him into her arms and comfort him. Selfishly, she wanted Fenris to unfurl and be strong, if only for the pleasure of watching him thrive.

But Fenris didn't need her comfort then. He needed assurance, compassion, _safety_. Mostly, however, he needed her patience.

"One step at a time, Fenris. We've got ages to figure this mess out, and I've got plenty of doughnuts in the meantime. Tell me what you want to be rid of. Let me help you let go."

Fenris swallowed thickly. For a moment, it was as if he had never left, never been caught. It had seemed so real. When his gaze finally drifted back to Hawke he felt shame lace through him. The last thing he wanted was for Hawke to think him weak. Or broken. And yet right now he was doing a fine job of convincing her that he was both.

"I'm sorry," he started haltingly. Fenris looked a little to the left of Hawke's face as he addressed her. It was too difficult to speak to her light imploring eyes. "I wish to be rid of it all."

Hawke leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees. "It won't be easy, Fenris. It will take work, and patience. Most importantly, you'll need to want to get better."

She leaned forward in the chair and extended her hand, palm up, before him. "I can give you the tools, Fenris. And the support. All you need to do trust me."

It seemed to Fenris as if this was one of those moments that determined one's fate. Her hand hung in the open space between them, a suggestion, an offering- anything but a demand. So strange to finally be able to choose the tiger he fought.

Slowly, wary of touch and the pain it brought, he reached towards Hawke's hands, fingertips brushing fingertips.

"I can promise little Hawke. But I will try." _For you._

Hawke gently gripped the hand offered to her. "That's all you need to do. That's all I expect of you, Fenris."

When Fenris returned her grip, Hawke's heart fluttered with excitement, with _hope_. Maybe their efforts wouldn't pay off; Hawke was an inexperienced doctor and Fenris' recovery posed more than a challenge. But seeing Fenris healthy and at peace would be worth all of it.

"We can start right now," she said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. She walked over to her boxes and picked up the smaller of the two. "I'd like you to paint me something. Anything."

He had never seen anyone quite so enthused about painting, and Fenris found it strangely endearing. All the women he had come on contact with had been cold and unyielding, nothing like the strange creature before him.

"Paint." He echoed lamely. Fenris nodded, he could do that.

Opening the box he found brushes and paints, more colors than he'd ever seen. His eyes lit up without his knowing and he grazed his hand slowly over the rainbow of colors.

"I may use them?"

Hawke furrowed her brows. "Of course you can. Technically they belong to the hospital's art program, which there are staggeringly few members of," she joked.

Fenris remained unmoving, and he didn't make an attempt to take the set of paints, and Hawke's smile fell away.

"Nobody will miss them, Fenris. Feel free to use whatever you like."

Reverently, Fenris took out a gray and a black. He was unsure how to proceed, what to draw, what to say. . . .

He set his brush to the paper and looked down, trying to see all he could of Hawke out of the corner of his eyes. "And are you a member of this esoteric art club?"

Her little laugh made his heart flip.

Hawke laughed genuinely, sitting, leaning her elbow on the table and he chin in her hand. "Just the two of us," she remarked. Fenris smirked but did not look up from his work. "But you are our most talented member by fart. How did you get so good?"

_Talent_? What was supposed to have been a tree looked far more like a twisted overgrown shrub than he had originally intended. He would have corrected her, but her compliment gave him more happiness than he was willing to admit to himself. Fenris felt a part of him would wither should she retract the statement.

"My records did not mention I was a classically trained painter? Shame." He smirked a little and looked up to see how Hawke took his jest.

Hawke's grin split even wider. She would have never guessed that Fenris would have such a sense of humor, and it felt like a precious discovery.

"Now that you mention it, your file doesn't mention your masterful artistic aptitude. Perhaps you've got a fondness for lute playing too. And marine life," she joked.

His own smirk became a slight laugh. Fenris could do this. Three years of speaking with Hawke, of light banter and easy conversation… he looked forward to it.

"Do you draw?"

"Stick figures and smiley face suns. I'm also proficient at daisies, but only daisies."

With a paintbrush in his hand, Fenris seemed more at ease, confident. He spoke and laughed freely and confidently. He looked happy. _What I wouldn't give to see him like this all the time._

His brush slowed as Fenris' mind wandered. When was the last time he felt so off-guard? It was such irony that only here, in what most called a cage, he finally felt a semblance of freedom.

"Do you bring all your patients doughnuts and art?"

Hawke faltered, face turning pink. His question was more than likely well intentioned, but she still felt guilty.

"No," she said after a while. "Not all paints need the extra fat and sugar."

Fenris didn't think it possible for Hawke to become any more appealing, but he was proven wrong when a slight flush graced her cheeks. She was like a painting that had stumbled to life.

"How about we trade?" Hakwe suggested. "A question for a question. I'll ask then you."

"I'm willing. It is your turn, I think."

"Alright. Now, to think of the perfect question..."

A million things came to Hawke's mind. She could ask him about the man who paid his bail, his supposed contractor. He could ask what had driven him to agree to kill those people, or how he had done it. How he had felt about it.

"How old are you? It doesn't say in your file."

"I do not know," he murmured, chagrined. He could not answer even the simplest of questions. His masters had called him stupid and they had been right. "No one thought it important to tell me. Or perhaps no one knew. It doesn't really matter now, I suppose."

Hawke's heart tightened, and she reached for her clipboard.

_Age: unknown._

It was impossible to guess just how old Fenris looked. His skin was smooth and ageless, marred only by the artful lines of his brands. His eyes seemed older though, exposed to life and pain. She wondered if her eyes told as much as his.

"Your turn."

She looked at him pityingly, and somehow that made Fenris feel all the worse. Despite the futility of it, he wanted Hawke to think he was strong. Worth her time. _Worth her affection_.

"Why would a woman like you choose this life?"

_Hawke, why would you choose this for yourself? You don't owe Bethany anything. She would be proud of you either way._

Hawke's lips tightened at the memory of her mother's voice. She had no way of telling Fenris the truth of her motives to be a doctor, but it would have felt worse to lie. She didn't want to break his precious trust, not when she was so close in earning it.

"To satisfy some promises," she said softly. "And to help people. And what do you mean by a 'woman like me'?"

A cloud passed over her face, dark eyes turned suddenly sad. Fenris wished he hadn't asked, it had not been his place and from the way she looked at him it was not something she wished drudged obviously did not want to dwell on it, and so he moved on as well.

"It is not often you see beautiful women speaking with the criminally insane."

Hawke's blush came back with a force, staining her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

_He called me beautiful, he called me beautiful..._ Being flustered by such a comment proved how unprofessional she really was in the clutch. Taking a steadying breath she attempted to come up with a coherent reply.

"It's not often one gets to speak with the next Makovsky."

Fenris felt his ears burn hot at the compliment.

"I, ah, thank you."He coughed and continued. "I believe it is my question again. Do you prefer summer or winter?"

Hawke considered a moment, clicking her ragged nails on the arm of her chair. "I really hate the summer; I'm prone to burn and never really tan. I only freckle. So, hmm, late autumn sounds about right." she thought aloud. "Or winter. I like the snow."

"I've never seen the snow. I've heard it's beautiful, though."

He was familiar with cold _so familiar, far, far too familiar_, but it was strange to think he'd never been that far north.

He cleaned his brush and got out a different color- a blue this time. Fenris was enjoying this far too much.

"Where are you from?"

"Lothering, originally," 'she replied.

She missed everything about her old village. She missed the kindly neighbors, and the little kids that ran around the shabby buildings and run down fences with their jump ropes and balls. "I was so sad to see it go."

_Lothering. . ._ That town had been destroyed in a great fire a few years ago. It was horrible, truly; Fenris could not imagine losing one's home in such a fashion. He could not imagine having a home either, but to know what it is he was losing would surely be even worse.

"I'm sorry."

Hawke raised her head, turning away to look out the barred window. "I've made my peace with the whole thing." Fenris continued to paint as she spoke, but Hawke saw how he listened. She felt the familiar stirring of grief in her heart, for all that fire had caused her to lose. "All things will heal in time. They have to."

He nodded, not believing her words so much as acknowledging the pain and intent behind set his brush down and slid the picture over to her.

"Satisfactory?"

Hawke picked the picture off the table as carefully as she dared, as if it might disintegrate upon touch.

What she saw in that painting took her breath away.

It was a pathway, cobbled with stone, winding into the distance. Lined with greying trees and twisted bramble, it was almost...

It looked a little like the road that led into Lothering.

On the boughs of one of the blackened trees sat a bird, tiny and fragile but teeming with vitality. Its red feathers were puffed up against the cold, and it looked just like the cardinals that would always pair up in southern Ferelden county.

Briefly, Hawke wondered if Fenris was aware how accurately he had depicted her old home.

"Fenris," she began, voice weak with wonder. "This is incredible. It's _amazing_."

He did not know what to say. This was, what, the third time she had complimented him? Fenris was unsure if she was humoring him or honest.

He wasn't sure which he wanted more.

"I . . . I believe I've seen better. I will improve, I promise."

Hawke shook her head and leaned in closer to inspect the painting. "I'm not sure how you could improve on this," she commented, fingers hovering just over the little bird.

Carefully, she met Fenris' gaze. He seemed disbelieving, and stared back at her defensively, almost regretfully. Hawke straightened and her brows came together. "You really don't see it? How good you are?"

"How… good I am?" He echoed. Fenris' eyes flickered back down to the picture before them. "A child could have done better with crayons in half the time."

How could he not recognize his talent? Fenris was...incredible. In the short time they had been talking, he had created a thing of beauty, a piece of art.

"No, Fenris. This," she gestured to the paints and the picture, "this is important. You told me once you had nothing, you owned nothing, not even yourself."

He looked at her, eyes wide and vulnerable in a way she hadn't seen before. "You can own this. This is yours."

He looked down at where their hands hovered, close . Hawke's hands were soft and pale, dusted with freckles and cool. His own hands were calloused, scarred, hot- _and branded, above all_. White lines snaked over his dark skin, a testament to his life, to the inadequacies that he could never run from.

Even his hands would never truly be his own.

"Is it? I think that time has long passed."

Hawke only smiled, gripping his hand a little more firmly. "That's what I'm here to teach you Fenris; the only person who owns you _is_ you. And it is never too late. Luckily I have some time to convince you of that."


End file.
